


To Love and be Loved in Return

by j_marquis



Category: Castlevania 白夜の協奏曲 | Castlevania: Harmony of Dissonance, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: No really this is a love story, Other, Polyamory, Threesome Belmont
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/pseuds/j_marquis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes love is the best way to recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Love and be Loved in Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xiaojian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiaojian/gifts).



They returned from the castle tired, worn, changed. When Juste was too tired to walk, Maxim carried him on his back, when Lydie woke of nightmares, they comforted her. Maxim didn't talk. He had done too much, seen too much, been too much, irrevocably changed. But he walked alongside them, helped when he could, reached out to touch Juste's hair, Lydie's hand, whatever he could to be sure that they were real, that this was real. None of them were sure they would even recognize home again when they arrived.

At least the three had a home to return to. They had each other. They had survived.

At first, it all seemed hollow, so young, faced with the weight of what they had suffered, what they had done. Who Maxim had been. Pretending to be normal, continuing a life outside of the castle, seemed hollow. It all seemed so pointless. They had been faced with Death, what hold could life have anymore?

Maxim barely left the rooms Juste had given him in the Belmont family home. He was quiet, he was haunted, he was pale and pulled thin, a shadow of the fighter Juste had known. The atrocities he had committed weighed down his shoulders, cast his eyes to the ground. Juste and Lydie alike stood helpless to ease his pain, to convince him that the wrong he had done had not been his mind, his will. Make him believe that he had never been a monster.

They loved him. They couldn't let him waste away for atrocities he had never meant to commit. But as the months wore on, Maxim pulled further and further away, he hid from the world, ate only when he was made to, hid from the light they had guided him safely into.

Juste found Maxim on the roof of the manor house, watching the sun rise, his normally tanned face pallid with his self imposed exile, clothes hung loose where he had once been strong. Juste still knew that he was beautiful, and he hoped that what he had come to offer was enough to show him he was good.

"May I sit?" Juste asked, did so anyway, without waiting for a response.

Maxim looked over, smiled, the movement, the expression was strained.

"You have been quiet, my friend." He sighed, reached over to touch his hand.

Maxim shrugged. "I haven't anything to say."

"Come downstairs. Take breakfast with Lydie and I."

"I don't think I can face her."

"You have faced me." Juste wrapped his hand around Maxim's, gentle, tugged. "She wants to see you."

Maxim hung his head, thick waves of black hair slipped over his shoulders, a perfect contrast to Juste's pale skin, white hair. They had always been teased for it, their opposing appearances, light and dark, Juste quiet, studious in contrast to Maxim's brash strength. Juste removed his hand, pushed it through Maxim's hair, tucked it back so he could see his face.

"Please, Maxim. Come with me. We both want to see you."

"I kidnapped her, Juste. I would have killed her." He whispered.

"That wasn't you. That was the thing that you and I both defeated." Juste felt bold. He leaned over, kissed his cheek. "You helped me to save her."

Maxim looked at him, startled, a long moment. After all, it was closer than they had ever been. The pair had always been close, always brought Lydie into their games, an inseparable trio, but none had crossed the line into physical intimacy. Casual touches were common, to the hand, the shoulder, Lydie and Maxim both had always loved to play with Juste's hair, but a kiss, this was something new. 

Something not entirely unwelcome, it seemed. Maxim smiled, for the first time since they had returned.

"I didn't know you felt that way, Belmont." He laughed, soft.

"Didn't you?" Juste smiled, pushed a hand into his soft hair again, cradled the back of his head. He leaned close, and their lips met. It was a gentle kiss, soft, lingering in the chaste first kiss. "Please, Maxim. Come downstairs."

He nodded his assent, the smallest movement, and allowed Juste to take his hand, helped his friend, maybe more, to his feet.

Lydie was waiting in a sitting room for them, her feet tucked under her, buried in a book. But she looked up when they arrived, and grinned wide, jumped to her feet to wrap her arms around both men.

"Juste you brought him back!" She laughed, turned to hug Maxim tight.

Juste smiled. This was, if he could be honest with himself, what he had been hoping for. For them to love each other, as he loved each of them. For both of his loves to be happy. And he watched Maxim lift her off her feet, holding Lydie tight, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Give her here, Maxim." Juste laughed, held his arms out.

"Take her." And it was just like it had been, all three smiling, and Maxim let Juste take Lydie, still holding her off her feet, to her riotous laughs.

"Wait, Juste, give me back I want to give Maxim a kiss." Lydie reached out, and Maxim looked to Juste, face twisted in confusion.

"Juste? What does she mean?"

He set Lydie down, helped her smooth her simple dress, brushed his lips across her forehead.

"Maxim, Lydie and I have a proposition for you."

He looked between the two, brow furrowed, almost defensive. "What is it?"

"Maxim, stay with us." Lydie pleaded, held her hands out. "Juste and I love you."

"Juste?"

Juste took Maxim's face in his hands, kissed him, beckoned Lydie over so she could hold her arms out. And Maxim stepped into her embrace, she had to stand on the tips of her toes to kiss him, but she did. Juste felt his heart lift, relief washing over him. He moved Maxim, to steal another kiss, he pushed his hand through Lydie's hair, kissed her in return. She tasted sweet, like lemon cakes, in contrast to the liquor Maxim had been drinking too much of as of late.

"Lydie and I want you to stay." He reaffirmed.

"Call for food and I'll consider it." Maxim laughed, soft, fell back onto the sofa where Lydie had been reading.

Juste sat beside him, tucked his head against Maxim's shoulder and took his hand. And Lydie curled to his other side, gathered her book again. It was the easiest motion in the world, the most natural position for them to fall into. They could help Maxim, he knew, they could help each other. There might be healing, after the castle, if love was had. They might be able to help each other recover. Juste and Lydie could help bring Maxim back to himself, could help him learn again who he had been, the man they loved, and loved even still. 

They took to sleeping, all three of them, in the large bed in Juste's room, a tangle of limbs and sleepy, sloppy kisses more nights than not. Lydie was the one who insisted, begged both of them to lie down with her, and tucked comfortably in the middle, and it became the norm for the trio. Juste was just glad to see his lovers both smile, both sleep without nightmares. And if that meant often waking to find Maxim had stolen all the blankets, or Lydie had pinned him with her skinny limbs, it was worth it. Making love wasn't as awkward as Juste had thought it would be, they fell into natural patterns of taking each other, generous with hands and lips and pleasure was found as much in the act as it was in knowing it was an act of love.

For all the world to see, Lydie had married Juste, the Belmont line couldn't die out. And Maxim was just a friend with no family to call his own, another product of the Belmont's generosity. No one needed to know about the lazy early morning lovemaking, Maxim buried deep inside Juste, driving him deeper and deeper into Lydie, gasping moans made three names. No one needed to know how bright Juste's eyes lit when Lydie perched in Maxim's lap, kissed him, asked him to name one of the sons she bore. Belmont boys though they were, they had two fathers, and Maxim loved them as if they were his own. The world could know only that they were happy. That they were loved.

That love, in all it's forms, could heal.


End file.
